


Nothing Heard, Nothing Said

by rareformofwolfsbane



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 14:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17285561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rareformofwolfsbane/pseuds/rareformofwolfsbane
Summary: ‘there was a screech of tires, a bright flash of light, crunching of metal loud, screaming, pain.Tony groaned, his eyes blinking open slowly.He was on the roof.Tony’s eyes scrunched closed. That’s not right.’





	Nothing Heard, Nothing Said

**Author's Note:**

> Authors note; I love Mafia AUs- they are one of my favourite tropes and this wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it.  
> Okay so, Tony’s not Ironman persay (yet? But he still has the arc reactor and supplies the avengers with equipment and whatnot) and everything’s still sorta ‘sorta!’ In accordance with MCU but more so in the background, [like a mafia] idk the baseline of this story is ambiguous, only because I don’t know where I was going with it, lolol.

* * *

“You ready to go?”

 Stirring from his light doze, Tony hummed, rolling his cheek along his fist and grimacing at the wetness it brought with it. He opened his eyes, blinking into the dim lighting of his workshop and yawned, fingers dabbing away at the drool.

 There was a snort from across the room and Tony jolted, eyes jumping to the figure leaning in the doorway. Clint did nothing to hide the amusement on his face and Tony rubbed a tired hand across his eyes.

“Is the car here already? God, what time is it?”

“It’s only nearing eight and Happy’s been here for ten minutes.”

Tony peaked through his fingers, eyes blinking with sleepy exasperation. He dragged his hand down his face as he spun in his chair to face Clint. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

Clint shrugged his shoulders, pushing away from the wall to stride towards Tony’s work bench to fiddle with a loose arrowhead of Tony’s latest design.

“Like you don’t rock up fashionably late-’ a pointed look to Tony’s oil stained tank top, “-anyway. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, man, you look exhausted. That nap looks like it’s done you wonders already.”

 “I’d have to agree with Mister Barton, Sir.”

 Clint grinned, a smug finger pointing to the roof in the vague direction of Jarvis.

 Tony shot him a disgruntled look and carefully snatched the arrowhead from his fingers and set it down beside the completed pile of arrows.

“I’m not a child,” Tony stood with a stretch and flapped ineffectually at Clint’s hands as he kept making grabs for the arrowhead, a fletching, _like_ _a_ _child_. “Stop touching your unfinished toys!”

With a last quick poke to prove a point, Clint hopped away with a laugh fishing his phone out to send a message to Happy that they’ll be out shortly. The smile faded slowly as he considered Tony’s exhausted state as the man picked up the suit Pepper had brought down earlier that morning. 

“Is the Gala that important? You can’t skip?”

Tony sighed, checking Clint’s watch as he strode past him to the small bathroom.

“If it were any other Gala, I’d consider, but it’s the Maria Stark Foundation,” Tony didn’t bother shutting the door and Clint just simply turned around as the sound of running water slightly muffled the rest of his sentence. “-I’m _required_. Plus, I actually like some of the people who attend. And anyway, I usually go long enough to make an appearance, do a round of schmoozing,” Tony peeked his head out of the shower. “-and then disappear.”

Clint answered Tony’s grin with a wink and wiggled his phone in the air.

“Well good, because a little birdie just told me Cap’s coming home t..”

The shower abruptly shut off before Clint could finish his sentence and the resulting smile directed his way was radiant. With renewed energy, Tony was ready in a matter of moments, flitting around the room to make sure he had everything before he was out the door, a ‘ _what_ _are_ _you_ _waiting_ _for_ , _Barton_?’ thrown over his shoulder.

Clint blinked, watching Tony practically glide down the corridor and huffed a laugh, hurrying to catch up.

Tony flicked Happy a greeting with a smile, shivering in the cool night air, phone already out as he settled into the car, Clint beside him. The phone barely rung twice before the line was picked up and Tony sighed happily with a touch of seduction. 

“Hello Captain.”

A rich, soothing roll of laughter greeted him and Tony slunk in his seat, head tilting to lay against Clint’s shoulder- who shifted closer to make it more comfortable- he could imagine clearly a bashful grin that was all sin.

“Tony,” affection. “Are you on your way to the Gala?”

“And fashionably late? Of course.” He tapped his fingers against the arc reactor. “Am I expected to see you there to whisk me away like some fairy tale?”

There was a shift of fabric on the other end, a crossing of one leg over the other, papers crinkling, voices.

“Do you know something I don’t?” There was amusement colouring Steve’s voice and Tony smirked, poking Clint in the ribs who yelped, squirming away from questing fingers.

“That Clint can’t keep secrets? Yes. You know he can’t hide anything from me.”

Clint huffed, an indignant ‘ _yes_ I _can_ , _don’t_ _listen_ _to_ _him_!’ and shoved Tony back to his side of the car. Happy smiled indulgently through the rear view mirror and Tony flapped a hand in his direction with a laugh.

“So Spangles, what time are we staging the getaway?”

The line crackled with Steve’s sigh.

“We should be back very early in the morning - there’s some last order of business we need to take care of here first.”

Tony sat forward, brows furrowed. Hydra activity has been rampant of late and getting Steve to accept Tony’s help is like pulling teeth. He wants Tony as far away from any and all business to do with the Avengers and Hydra as he can get him. For safety.

It’s been an ongoing argument ever since Tony found out Steve was _the_ Captain America, Mob Boss of the Rogue Avengers. They’ve only recently reached a compromise (insistence!) that Tony is to be in charge of their equipment if Steve wants him to stay out of it.

Tony’s pretty sure Steve knows that Tony hands over data and locations of Hydra bases to Natasha, but he’s never been pulled up on it, so that’s neither here nor there.

“Is it the Red Skull?” From the corner of Tony’s eye, Clint angles his head in interest, but props his chin on his hand and continues to stare out the window.

“Tony..” a hint of warning before Steve’s tone was pleasant and soothing again if a little regretful. “Now, have you eaten?

Tony smiled vacantly, fingers trailing along his cuff links, creating mindless shapes as they each talked about their day.

They were in the middle of discussing Bucky and Natasha, ‘ _Barton’s_ _pining_ ’-‘ _I_ _am_ _not_!’, when (“ _doesn’t_ _the_ _street_ _seem_ _empty_ _to_ _you_ , _Boss_?” _Happy_ _murmured_ ) the loud rumbling of a motorcycle startled him enough to jerk the phone from his ear. The rider kept pace with Happy as three more sidled up, flanking the car on either side and Tony reached over to Clint, gripping his arm. Clint stares down the riders, eyes flicking over the nondescript bikes, what they’re wearing, estimating height and weight, whilst he reached for his sidearm.

“-at is it? Tony? Tony!”

Tony hummed, distracted, as the first rider dropped back to ride beside him. The helmet tilted and Tony could feel eyes staring into his own. His mouth parted with a gasp. With a signal of the wrist, the riders sped up, overtaking the car completely and disappearing into a side street, tires squealing and engines roaring.

The phone was pulled from Tony’s slack grip, the muffled sound of Steve’s voice growing louder the longer he was left unanswered. Tony half listened to Clint speak on the phone with gruff tension, as he reached under the seat for the secret compartment that held his Mark VI repulsor links. 

Tony was well aware of the dangers that dogged each and everyone of the Avengers steps -he attached the repulsors to his cuff links and flexed his hands as the armour expanded, mechanics whirring - and persuaded the _Captain_ , instead of his fiancé, to train him. 

He reached to take the phone back when there was a screech of tires, a bright flash of light and Tony was shoved down as Clint curled around him with a shout, the crunching of metal loud, screaming, pain.

Nothing.

* * *

The seat belt was digging sharply across his chest. Tony groaned, his eyes blinking open slowly and he stared blankly at the roof, his face hot and sticky with blood.

They were upside down. He reached for his belt buckle.

He was on the roof.

Tony’s eyes scrunched closed. _That’s_ _not_ _right_. He opened them. He huffed out a hurt whine as he heaved himself onto his hands, glass crunching under his weight and looked around the compartment. His eyes fell to Clint who was upside down, hands trailing along the.. roof, blood matting his dark hair, his cheek and nose grazed.

Tony’s head hurt..

It felt a lifetime when his eyes opened, but at least he was holding Clint’s hand. Tony called his name, voice hoarse. Wiggles his hand. Nothing.

“Please?” His voice cracked. Tony craned his head around, searching but his eyes and brain couldn’t grasp what he was looking for.

Happy groaned from the front seat and Tony jerked in his direction, hissing sharply through his teeth as the movement pulled harshly across the ache in his shoulders.

There’s movement and suddenly fingers are prodding the top of his head and Tony gasped _finally_! As Clint stared blearily down at him. 

Before Tony could ask if he was _alright_ , _can_ _you_ _move_?The crumpled passenger door yanked open with a screech of protest, a tight grip circling his ankle. Tony cried out as he was dragged across the broken bits of glass, palms scraping along the warped frame of the car, scrabbling for purchase.

 “Ah, Mister Stark, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Now let’s get a good look at you.”  

* * *

 

_To_ _be_ _continued_ -

 

 


End file.
